


Unfilthy

by kibasniper



Series: Femslash February 2019 [9]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Bonding, Bullying, Canon Era, Caretaking, F/F, Femslash February 2019, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Tsumiki insists that she tripped and dirtied herself, but even she knows Nanami can see right through her.





	Unfilthy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash February 2019's fourteenth prompt "White."

It isn’t a rare sight to see Tsumiki sobbing. Her crying is more like keening, a desperate song for help while she blubbers through her apologies. She keeps trying to wipe her face and trap the tears rolling down her ruddy cheeks, but too many of them fall from her thin eyelashes and land on her skirt.

Scrapes line her knees and shins, forming thin red lines that make her hiss if touched. Smears of dirt threaten to invade the wounds from her spot in the grass. Orange leaves fix themselves in her hair like colorful accessories until the chilly breeze picks up, whipping her uneven strands in her face.

She didn’t even want to look at her uniform. Her clean nurse’s garb, soiled with sticky rice, shredded cabbage, and tonkatsu sauce, makes her shivering. It had been a gift from one of her precious classmates during a Christmas gift exchange, and feeling the slabs of tonkatsu weigh down in her lap, certainly becoming colder by the second, brings out another harsh sob from the back of her throat.

She had just been so focused in rushing over to Mitarai to feed him. Considering the Impostor told her he had started refusing three meals a day in order to focus on a special project, she made an extra bento box to give directly to him. Tsumiki thought it was going to be a pleasant surprise for Mitarai and relieve some of the worry off the Impostor’s thick shoulders.

She didn’t mean to bump into Saionji. It had been a complete accident when she knocked into her back and made her topple in Koizumi when they were taking a photo together. Despite Koizumi insisting she and her camera were fine, Saionji grabbed Tsumiki’s hair, insulted her, and shoved her into a tree in the courtyard. Koizumi immediately reprimanded Saionji, but the strong-willed dancer already plugged her ears and stalked away. Koizumi stomped after her, scolding her and over her shoulder, she called out to Tsumiki that she would certainly not let Saionji go this time.

The bullying had been happening for a full year. Tsumiki isn’t so sure that she should even trust Koizumi’s promise when she turned a blind eye to it happening in the classroom.

Still, she weeps, knowing she won’t be able to give Mitarai his meal. She can’t feed him tomatoes sitting in dirt or simply scoop up the dollop of ginger when bugs have begun feeding from it.

She’s used to the pain and knows people are quietly walking past her. She can feel their dark shadows crossing over her, their minds focused only on themselves. Tsumiki grits down on her teeth and digs her uneven fingernails into her palms, listening to her breathy hiccups and the rhythmic footsteps on the prestigious pathways leading into Hope’s Peak Academy.

They don’t care with their shifty glances and lopsided smirks. She’s already gathered a nasty following because of Saionji’s rumors. The younger students, all of whom she had hoped to impress and help with their injuries, may believe she’s only sobbing for attention. With someone like the imposing Super High School Level Traditional Dancer telling them such a wicked lie, Tsumiki thinks they’ve lapped it all up like dogs to tainted water.

“Tsumiki-san!”

She gasps, lifting her head and lowering her hands. She blinks away unshed tears and lets them drip down her face, horror beseeching her. Whimpering, she tries to stuff the lukewarm chicken back into the bent bento box as her class representative kneels by her.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Nanami asks, setting her Game Girl Advance to the side. She surveys the damage done to Tsumiki and gasps.

“I-I’m f-fine. Please-please don’t worry about me,” Tsumiki murmurs, but she can’t hide her warbling tone. She tries to quirk her lips into a smile.

Nanami frowns, humming. She directs her attention to Tsumiki’s uniform, and following her gaze, she gasps. Dread sweeps through her as realization pinches her brain.

“I-I-I’m so sorry! The uniform you gave me, it-it-it’s ruined, ruined,” she croons, her hands shaking as she goes to cover her mouth.

“I’m more worried about you,” Nanami interjects, and she cups Tsumiki’s hands, gently running her thumb over her knuckles. “Who did this?”

She swallows. “N-no one. I mean, I tri-tripped and-and fell into a tree and-”

Nanami lowers her gaze. “It was Saionji-san, wasn’t it?”

Tsumiki chokes down a squeak. She wonders if Nanami has telepathy for a brief moment as the Super High School Level Gamer smiles. Tsumiki watches her slide off her backpack and zip it open, tensing all the way through. She pulls out a fine cloth, one fit for wiping console screens and begins gently scooping the food residue off her chest, making Tsumiki’s heart beat faster.

Drawing in slow breaths, she asks, “Won’t, um, won’t this be a waste of a cloth?”

“It’s okay. I have several.” Nanami gestures at her knees. “Are you legs okay? Do you have any spare bandages on you?”

She grimaces and shakes her head. Her one-track mind, so intent on giving Mitarai his food, made her forget to bring the most basic necessity of being a nurse.

“That’s okay. I think I have some in here,” Nanami says, her voice lowering as she sets the dirtied cloth aside and rummages through her backpack.

Tsumiki doesn’t reply, shame coursing in her veins like hot blood. She wonders how expensive the uniform was for Nanami to buy for someone like her. She lets Nanami take control when she fishes out storebrand bandage strips, the flimsy and cheap kind with itchy adhesives. A cynical part of her mind taunts her, saying that’s the only kind she deserves. She doesn’t react when Nanami rips through the packaging and places them on her knees and thighs, overlapping them when they begin to crease.

“That should be okay for now,” Nanami says, smiling, and Tsumiki wipes her eyes, gnawing on her lower lip. Her expression fell into neutrality. “Tsumiki-san, it’s okay. You can tell me what really happened.”

She sniffles, the urge to talk bubbling up in her chest and like a dam, she bursts. “I-I didn’t mean it! I tripped into Saionji-san, and-and that made her fall into Koizumi-san. S-so, so, so, I deserved it when she pushed me dooown!” She wails, earning a few wincing looks from passerbyers. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry. I t-told her that, too, and K-Koizumi-san said she-she-she would talk to her but...but…”

“That’s not your fault. That was an accident, and she was wrong to shove you,” Nanami replies, cupping Tsumiki’s clammy hands. “I’ll make sure she apologizes to you and that she won’t do it again.”

Tsumiki already knows she’ll do it the moment Nanami turns away. It’s happened too many times in the span of a year, and she knows it will last until graduation. Even though Nanami had tried to get Saionji to be nicer, they all defaulted to their positions of bully, victim, and meditator by the start of every week.

Still, warmth fills her chest and cheeks. The earnesty behind Nanami’s words touches her even when her brain hisses she doesn’t deserve it. She feels Nanami squeeze her hands as if sealing her promise. Drawing in a breath, Tsumiki lets herself smile as the wind blows on them.

“Thank you, Nanami-san,” she murmurs, and she throws her arms around her, burying her face into her chest. She shudders, taking in Nanami’s warmth as if it would one day leave her.

She can’t see Nanami’s expression, and the fleeting fear that disgust mingles on her face crosses her mind, but Nanami embraces her. She feels her palm smooth down her hair and pick out any leftover leaves. Even when the faint scent of ginger reminds her of her stained uniform, in Nanami’s arms, she knows she’s clean and free from any chance of cruelty.


End file.
